Timeless
by 3ofDiamonds
Summary: An angel answers the call of a man plagued by nightmares and finds a way to quiet his mind, if only in dreams.


"Sam!"

His brow furrowed over his closed lids, glinting faintly with drops of frustration. Lips curling in a grimace subdued by sleep, his head twitched to the side, sensing an attacker that wasn't there.

This night was no different from any other; the plague of sleep was always animated by an onslaught of panic—a refracted mirror of his waking life that only sought to rob him of moments where he might otherwise feel safe beneath the weighted cover of unconsciousness. The scene battered against the dark walls of his mind, culminating into reality only through the sporadic grunts and words that managed to escape his lips.

"Sa—mmy..!"

His head rolled jerkily to the side, jaw clenching.

* * *

The harsh light of the streetlamp was made all the more irritating by the incessant buzz emanating from the pole, but the man sitting on the bench beneath it didn't seem to mind. He wore a beige coat over a disheveled outfit, tie hanging loosely, in which he appeared no more than a man about his business, if but down on his luck, and strange only for the time of night. His fingers laced absent-mindedly matched the loose hanging of his head in an apathetic daze, his eyes hooded with the weight of time spent waiting for nothing. Time spent for the sake of spending. He didn't sleep, and for this reason the sound reached his consciousness like a murmur through the void.

"Cas…"

His neck stiffened slightly with the perk of his head, as a separate voice within refuted what he heard. He tilted his head, straining for an echo to quiet the uncertainty. Curiously, he waited. He lifted his eyes as the awareness of the streetlight's glare encompassed him, squinting up towards the lamp. He noticed for the first time it was irritating. His expression softened as the inquiry towards the call faded seamlessly to doubt, which gave way shortly to resolve. It was nothing. The wind. This world.

"Cas!"

The film of uncertainty shattered the instant it reached him, and an empty plastic cup rolled without purpose to rest in the place where his foot had just been. The lamplight continued to buzz, casting its sharp glow on an empty park bench.

* * *

His soundless entrance was instantaneous, as an automatic response to a call. As immediately apparent was the lack of peril in the dingy room, which Castiel surmised from his new position in the corner, dark except for a few orange streaks of light filtering in from the broken shades hanging on the window. The only sound now was a shifting against cloth, as the conflict happening within a mind animated muscles to spasms and occasional groans. Castiel surveyed the room, and finding himself and the other as the only occupants, ventured to step towards the figure, who in turn gave way to another bout of jerky motion. The sweat had gathered into significant droplets that clung to his skin, streaking now and then down a temple or a jawline that molded with each grinding of teeth. Castiel studied him as another bead abandoned the man's forehead. He inclined his head to the side, recognizing the torment a human's mind can inflict on its host. A slightly darkened ring of moisture had formed against the sheets beneath the figure, revealing the length of the struggle he had endured thus far in the night. Tentatively, he raised an arm towards the sleeping figure, two fingers compelled towards space above the brows which knitted tightly together.

"…stiel," the man breathed, barely audible. This halted his hand's progression towards his forehead for a moment. It hovered there, hesitating, an inch from his skin. His lips pursed in decision, then, fingertips made contact.

* * *

A flash of light, and countless, nameless apparitions faded into nothing. Dean swirled on his toes to face another assault and clutched at the air where his weapon had just been, his feet wide and grounded in defense. Jarred, he spared a moment to look to his empty hand, gripping it open and closed around air. He turned quickly, recovering from his momentary daze and putting his fists up, but nothing was as it had been. It occurred to him through the fog of battle that his surroundings were different, as if a switch had flipped the scene. He squinted in the sudden light and became dimly aware of the sound of water lapping. His circular footsteps slowed, he gradually lowered his hands still formed as fists, and through the haze of mistrusting his security, he took in the new landscape through rasping breaths.

The water stretched across a wide expanse, flowing steadily in waves upon the surface towards the opposite shoreline. Trees covered the hill. Behind him, a small gravel opening made way to a not-so-well-worn path cut thinly between the brush and woods. A vague sense of familiarity washed across the recesses of his mind. He struggled against the calm, keeping rigid in denial, the sounds of birds and rustling leaves impressing upon the edges of his awareness. Another moment and his breathing slowed. He allowed a quick glance downward, which erupted in an astonished gape as he realized a fresh, spotless attire replaced the spray and slashes of blood which he had worn in combat. At this, he surrendered his ferocity to frigid caution and took in the scene.

His boots clacked on the old wood as he stepped down to the edge of the dock, hands in his pockets. He stared out over the water as it flecked and glistened with each wave, the wind blowing gently at his back. He lowered himself into the folding chair there, and felt the remainder of unease melt its way off his neck. He closed his eyes, breathing a deep sigh of relief, not knowing from what. The source of excitement several minutes ago seemed distant and beyond the reaches of his understanding, perceived only vaguely through the thick cloud of serenity that settled over him.

* * *

Even in the dark, Castiel could see the moment the last of the violence was released. Dean's forehead relinquished its deep creases, and the anguished noises fell silent to the soft rise and fall of his chest. Beneath lids, his eyes moved lightly back and forth and his jaw slackened to form his mouth in a rested state, his lips parted slightly. Castiel's attention stopped on them for a moment, then continued their scan of the rest of him with an imperceptible pursing of his own.

He folded his hands in his lap, turning his back on his companion, but remained perched stiffly on the edge of the bed. At the sound of a heavy sigh that signifies a great contentment, he turned his head to the side, sending his glance backward toward the sleeping figure.

* * *

Dean tilted his head to the sky, watching as two ducks quacked their way across it. He was aware of the tackle box at his side, but felt no hurry in paying it attention. He felt this moment was timeless. His thoughts dulled with relaxation, drifting without fixating on a single sensation, absorbed with the pattern of waves mimicking his absent thought.

He stiffened, alert with the sensation of a presence lingering behind him, just over his right shoulder.

"Hello, Dean."

Recognition eased the tension. His shoulder blades visibly unclenched, but failed to regain their previous lax.

"Bad news?" Irritation peaked in his voice, and he stared forward into the water.

Castiel surveyed the scene in every detail. So this is the pinnacle of serenity. For one man, anyway. The touch of light settled in an orange glow over the place as if it was dusk, or sunrise, where time suspended in the turn of night into day. But everything was luminescent. Still, save for the constant rippling of the water.

The implication of the question dawned on Castiel. He searched for a justification of his intrusion. He found none.

"Not this time."

He felt the annoyance before he heard it, and began to reproach himself for submitting to his own impulse.

"Then what?"

The forceful edge startled Dean as it left himself. Far away, in the recesses of his thought, he felt something was off. An ambiguous danger threatened to make itself known, and Dean struggled to put it aside for the time being. He grasped at the cloud of peace like a warm blanket that threatened to be pulled back and leave him exposed.

"I just wanted to see…how you like it."

The sedation of calm faltered in Dean, and flashes of a former unrest dropped a heavy force against his chest. The memory of his violent encounter awakened his consciousness to the surreal nature of his current state. How it had changed so suddenly. He closed his eyes and breathed in a deep sigh. There were things to be done...on the outside. He felt it could be ignored, for now, if it meant he could linger in the illusion a little longer.

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?"

"You are."

Castiel had feared his presence would disrupt the serene setting he had encouraged Dean's mind into, resulting in a disquieted lucidity in which Dean could claim control. Worse, he feared the realization would wake the sleeper, plunging him prematurely back into the reality that merely fueled the night terrors. He began down the path of regret for his intrusion, berating his inclination to come. Quietly, outwardly, he stared into the water.

"Did you put me here?"

Deans question pulled him out of his thoughts and he glanced down at his companion. He knew not if his response would be met with rage or demands of release.

"Yes."

A moment passed in the stillness before a whispered, almost silent, "Thank you."

Castiel's doubt melted and he found himself stepping forward, bringing his hip flush with the other man's shoulder to stand beside him. Dean turned his face slightly inward towards him at the motion, tilting his chin up just enough to lift a brow and catch the angel's eye. Castiel was looking down at him, near expressionless, save for an understated curve of his lip. Dean returned the simper with a short exhalation through his nose and a wry twist of his own lips. With a nod he faced the lake once more.

"How long?"

"An hour, it will seem."

Castiel undoubtedly felt the shift in countenance, and knew the great shadow that settled over Dean's shoulders: dread. He felt compelled to reach to it, as if by sheer force of will he could grab and drag the weight from him, but dropped his advancing hand back to his side the second he realized it had acted of its own accord.

"That's all?" The dismay was thick in his throat, the ease of his posture replaced with a fidgeting of fingers with a fold of his dark jeans. Castiel felt a pang of anguish creeping up the back of his neck. His appearance had disrupted the contentment. The sorrowful thought crumpled with a realization.

"However…"

A little to quickly, Dean tilted his face towards the angel.

"Time is subjective within the confines of unconsciousness. There is a way to…stretch…the mind to perceive a greater length has passed while keeping circumstances on the outside…consistent."

"Can you do it?"

"I can."

Dean attempted to subdue his longing as he tilted his face up. Castiel felt his chest expand in response to his expression.

"Would you?" he asked quietly.

With a curt nod, the angel raised his left arm from where it hung at his side. His open hand hovered momentarily over the top of Dean's head as he concentrated on the delicate work at hand. Five fingertips settled around his forehead, pinky and thumb grazing the dark hair at his temples. Castiel felt the soft fibers of his hair brush against his open palm as Dean inhaled long and deep, his eyes fluttering closed in response to the shift felt inside his head. Before it seemed to start, it was over.

Castiel looked into the man's face as his closed lids twitched slightly, and lifted his fingers from his head. Dean's eyes remained closed for a few breaths, face turned upwards. Castiel studied him silently, watching the finely-speckled jawline shape subtly beneath a quick clench of teeth. His hand descended to the side of Dean's face, his wrist turning over at his cheek without thinking. He felt the texture of stubble against his knuckles as the back of his fingers stroked down the line of Dean's jaw. The soft motion raised the man's lids, and Castiel found himself looking down and deep into the pools of green staring back at him.

His blue widened, and with a sharp turn he pulled away, stopping stiff behind Dean with his back to him. He cleared his throat.

"It will seem like a day. You may wake at any time, if you wish."

He took off at a brisk pace up the dock, ascending the steps leading to the path.

"Cas."

He paused at the stairs, his hands clenched tight in his coat pockets. A moment stretched out between them, thick with the struggle of indecision. The voice came soft, even, at his back.

"Would you stay?"

Castiel turned his face to the side, sending his glance to the back of the man's head who remained motionless in his chair, one foot still poised in front of the other atop a stair.

"If you so desire."

There was no movement. It came quietly from the end of the dock, with firm resolve.

"I would like that." Dean broke his stillness with a turn of his head, meeting the angel's gaze with one eye. It rested on him and waited with the hush of a plea subdued by pride. The squeak of shoes shifting on the wooden step sent Dean's sight drifting back to the water. His chest rose with an imperceptible sigh as the angel took his spot beside him.

"Cas?"

"Yes, Dean."

A hesitation.

"Will you…will I remember this conversation. When—"

"In waking life, yes."

Dean considered this with a nod.

"Can we…" he took a breath, "…pretend not to?"

Castiel regarded him for a moment.

"Of course."

He allowed his hand this time, aware of it's motion, to rest gently on Dean's shoulder. A soft curve formed at the edge of his lips, as the head encircled by the reassuring arm tilted inward towards him and pressed gently in response against his hip. The angel returned the smile he felt emanating from the man. From within. From this moment suspended in timelessness.


End file.
